A Lion-Fell
by luckbringer
Summary: How come Bottom gets to have all the glory? In the dark and sinister hours of the night, Snug the joiner is determined to do something about that. Rated a high K for some themes.


**In my mind, I felt like little Snug the joiner got the short end of the stick. Wouldn't he be a little miffed about that? In that case, here's my alternate ending to _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. All characters and lines from the play belong to the Bard himself.**

"You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear/The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,/May now perchance both quake and tremble here,/When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar./Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am/A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam;/For, if I should as lion come in strife/Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." (V.i.209-217)

He played his part. He sang the songs. He drank the ale. He congratulated the three—not one, not two, _three_ —happy couples that walked hand in hand away from the chapel. He even put on a smile as he shook Bottom's hand. He'd been the epitome of pleasantness and politeness.

But now, as he closed the door to his room at the cheapest-and-yet-cleanest inn Peter Quince could find, as the sounds of his fellow actors and their drunken laughter subsided, Snug's smile disappeared for the first time in hours. He scowled and resisted the urge to reopen the door just so he could slam it, or give the rotting wood a good kick. There wasn't even anything around him to throw. His room was bare, but so small he couldn't imagine there being room for anything more than the bed and nightstand it housed. A broom cupboard for the lion, and nothing more.

Snug sat down heavily on the bed and pulled his threadbare vest tighter around himself, his frustration simmering just below the surface of his mind. Night brought a chill he couldn't content with, not in this drafty attic. The innkeepers didn't even provide a blanket for the rock-hard mattress, the sods.

There was a thump from the room next to him, followed by a brief, but high-pitched, giggle, and Snug clamped his hands to his eyes. That came from Bottom's room, considerably bigger as befit the cast's new "star". And if that had really been a woman's giggle…

The hatred boiled in his veins, and Snug growled in barely-contained anger. Bottom! Never was there a worse name than Bottom. How dare that man, that stuck-up, high-thinking, self-centered, rat-faced, muck-brained excuse for an actor, be heralded as the very best of the cast? How come he was allowed to shove his opinions into Peter Quince's face on a whim? He knew he would be listened to. And, low and behold, he was! Quince lapped up Bottom's opinions like a three-legged dog, desperation lining his decisions to make his lead actor happy. But in rehearsals, Bottom did nothing but muck everything up, ending with that ridiculous stunt of his. Being turned into a donkey by fairies? Sleeping with the fairy queen and being waited upon by fairy attendants? Ridiculous! Absurd! A fantasy that lost the luster it never possessed with each telling, but his audience of thick-skulled idiots were ignorant that they were giving their rapt attention to a liar. And yet that tale, untrue as it no doubt was, made Bottom even more famous. No doubt the woman in his bed next door was there only because she was simple enough to believe that if she lay with a man touched by fairies she'd have good luck. Or maybe fairy babies, depending on the woman.

Snug refused to label his curses as jealousy, for that was a low, base emotion that implied Bottom had something that he did not. Which was, of course, a lie. Snug was just as talented as Bottom! Peter Quince had just never had the opportunity to see it, especially with him cast as something as unnecessary as a lion. So what if he had trouble speaking sometimes, or a high-pitched voice? Quince could have cast him as a female if that was the problem.

The words from the royals returned like lingering, possessive shadows. They'd mocked him, called him brave and meek and sensitive, the best actor to ever play a lion…well, clearly he was nothing of importance, since they'd forgot all about him when the moon showed up. And the wall. And Thisbe. And absolutely nothing was more important than Pyramus…

The world doesn't need Bottom! Bottom is nothing but a shallow, boot-licking, uneducated, poorly-trained—

Wait a minute. Snug sat up in bed with such force he cracked his head against the low roof. What if he got rid of Bottom? What if he gave that nobody what he deserved?

Rubbing his forehead gingerly, Snug thought out his plan. It'd be easy, no fuss, little to no mess. There was that girl in his bed to worry about, but he'd kill him silently, with one of their stage daggers. Those were sharp enough, weren't they? Necks were soft and vulnerable. Bottom was vulnerable. Bottom would die, tonight!

Snug smiled at his brilliance. If Bottom was dead, then Quince would have to find another actor who was good a fighting and killing! And who better than the joiner, who knew how to carve up wood and skin as good as any assassin. It'd be perfect. Life would be good. He could have that big room, with all the ladies dangling off his every word.

As soon as the house (and the room next to him) fell silent, Snug crept silently down to the prop cart stored downstairs. _Let's see how well your little fairy magic protects you now!_ He thought, his smile turning into a sinister jeer.

The next morning all awoke to the sounds of a petrified scream. The cast of the Mechanicals, and the rest of the inn's inhabitants, swarmed into Bottom's room and were frozen in shock. On the floor lay Snug the joiner, blood sprouting from every pore and hole in his body in a steady stream, the most prominent streams coming from his mouth, nose, ears, and lower regions. An unused prop knife was next to his hand. Scattered on and around Snug's body were flower petals of all sizes, colors, and shapes, while directly over his heart there lay a single blood-red rose. On the bed on the far side of the room, Bottom and a naked woman stared in shocked silence at the spectacle.

If anyone had woken a few hours earlier, they might have seen a small cloud of glowing, sparkling creatures leave though Bottom's window, giggling as they sprinkled the blood off their tiny, luminescent hands.


End file.
